Da Ink is Wet and da Presses is Rollin'
by Bohemian Spitshine
Summary: This story is the memoir of a girl named Stitches. It takes her life from Ireland to New York city, from the day her life fell apart to the day it all came back together. A touching story about the way LIFE REALLY WAS in the Streets of New York in 1902.


Da Ink is Wet and Da Presses is Rollin'

"Memoirs of a girl named Stitches"

written by:  Stitches McNelson wid a little help from Momma O'henry

Starrin':  Stitches McNelson O'Henry

Paddy O'Henry

Bet Randall

A bunch a udder newsies

Momma O'Henry

Momma McNelson

Mary McNelson

Henry McNelson

An' all de udda people involved in ruining me life and den stitchin' it back tagetha 

I remember The first time I ever heard the word America. I was seven years old and I was back in Ireland. That was back when Papa was alive. It was him who introduced the idea of America to Mama. I used to hate him for it, but now I realize that if He hadn't mentioned America on That very day…I'd probably be dead. I was in the kitchen helping Mama with the dishes when Papa rushed through the door. He looked very tired and he spook in very rushed words. "I think we should move to America," He said. "As soon as possible, I've bought us tickets for next Thursday." Momma just stood there, shocked. Then she said something that only recently makes sense. 

Papa was gambler. He was addicted to gambling, and nothing would stop him from making a bet. One time he was low on money but he thought he had a sure win in a game of Poker. He bet more money then he had…and lost. This one mistake would cost him his life. The men he was playing with were…not very nice, if you know what I mean. You never wanted to cross these men, but that's just what my dad did.

Momma was very angry at Papa for buying tickets to America so quickly without even telling her. When he did though, she exploded and they started fighting in front of me. I, being a wee seven years old, did not understand why Papa was yelling and Mama was crying. It scared me very much so I took Mary, my younger sister, and my baby brother out into the yard.

I wish I had stayed in the house. Oh how I wish I had stayed in the house. My sister and I began playing a simple game of tag, and picked flowers, and played pretend while I kept a close eye on baby Henry. We played for about an hour when we heard loud, harsh, voices coming from the side of the house. I watched intently from the bench I was on as three men carrying my father came into the yard. I clapped my hand over Mary's mouth as she started "Papa!" I knew something was wrong and I decided to stay quiet. I did not like the way those men were treating my Papa. The men carried hi past us, not even noticing we were there.

It would be to painful to recall what was said that night, but I shall tell you what happened. One of the men slammed my papa against a big tree. He took a rope from another man and fashioned it into a hang mans rope. All this time I had no idea what was going on, if I had then things would have been different. 

The man took the rope and threw it around Papa's neck. Papa struggled to get it off and the man smacked him hard. I started to cry, but Mary and Henry had no interest in what was going on and Mary was now  playing with the buttons on Henry's shirt.

One of the other men climbed up onto the first limb of the tree with the free side of the robe and through it over. The other men pulled down on the rope, Papa went up two inches hanging from his neck. They pulled again, Papa went up higher making terrifying gagging noises. They pulled again, Papa went even higher and his hands fell limp at his sides. They pulled once more, Papa's eyes rolled back in his head. The man in the tree tied the rope to the branch and climbed down.

Then, the worst, most inappropriate thing that could happen, happened.

The men began to _laugh._

I couldn't stand it any longer…I shrieked at the top of my lungs and ran towards one of the men and started furiously beating on his chest. He looked down at me and laughed some more, then picked me up and threw me across the yard.

The next happenings went by in a blur.

The men left.

Mama came running out side and collapsed at the sight of Papa.

Mary sat looking like a doll with confusion etched into her delicate face.

But, Henry…Henry….Henry laughed.

Until just recently I could never look Henry in the face. But now I have realized that Henry was just a wee baby, he did not know whether to laugh or cry.

The next day Mama told me and Mary and Henry that we were going on a trip. Mary was delighted, but I wasn't. I didn't want to leave, I wasn't ready to leave Papa behind. He had only died yesterday. But Mamas face was solemn and stern. She ordered us to go and pack our things and wait in the front yard. As I left the room, I saw silent tears washing down Mama's face.


End file.
